


Breakfast at Tiffany's

by scoradh



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoradh/pseuds/scoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sort-of songfic about the summer of '09 when Panic at the Disco broke up. Inspired by the song Breakfast at Tiffany's by the Deep Blue Somethings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast at Tiffany's

_so what now? it's plain to see we're over  
and i hate when things are over  
there's so much left undone_  
  
  
Brendon was still awake. Spencer knew this because he'd been listening out for movement from the converted basement studio for three hours, all the way through a terrible made-for-movie TV that tackled such topics as mass disaster and leukaemia with the grace and tact of a bulldozer, right up till the endless stream of infomercials currently infesting the screen. Spencer was getting pretty close to ordering a combination toaster-breadmaker-icecream-scoop, so he was glad when Brendon shuffled into the room.  
  
"Hey." Spencer struggled to push himself off the couch pillows, which had at some point become inextricably welded to his back. Brendon's every movement telegraphed exhaustion and the shadows under his eyes were the colour of angry stormclouds, but his smile was a blinding flash of energy.   
  
"I got something," he whispered excitedly. Brendon had always had a thing about being vague and quiet when he was on the cusp of an inspiration, in case he'd somehow break it before it was fully formed. Spencer didn't get it, but his role was hitting things with sticks.   
  
"Awesome," said Spencer. "Is it ready for me to hear it?"  
  
Brendon shook his head. "Not yet. I think I need to phone Ryan first..." Spencer nodded along, not realising he'd been caught too until Brendon cut himself off with a gushy sound. Brendon and Ryan always bounced things off each other first. Even when Ryan and Jon were writing together, they had to get Brendon in on it too. Of course, that's where the problems all began, but Spencer was so used to the way things _had been_ that he still assumed that was the way things _were_.  
  
"This is so - weird," Brendon burst out. The understatement of the century, but Spencer breathed out assent. Ryan was back in LA, with Jon, but they might have been on Mars for how accessible and close they felt to Spencer.  
  
"C'mere," said Spencer. He held out his arms. Brendon sat down on the couch and dug his head into Spencer's neck, for all the world like an impatient lion cub. A second later he wriggled away. Spencer felt it too, how different it was to cuddle up when there was no Ryan to roll his eyes or Jon to validate that yeah, this was what all male friends did.   
  
"I think you should come listen," said Brendon. "I need - I need someone. An audience." He breathed out gustily, a frown line tunnelling down between his eyebrows. Spencer wanted to smooth it out with his thumb, the same way he wanted to push up the edges of Brendon's mouth so he smiled the way he used to, at anything and everything, whether it was appropriate or not. Instead, he stood up and followed Brendon.   
  
  
_you'll say the world has come between us  
our lives have come between us  
still i know you just don't care_  
  
  
Brendon still dressed carefully for dinner at the Smiths', making sure his t-shirt was clean and ironed and reserving whatever pair of jeans happened to be his favourite at the time. Ryan had rolled up to most recent family gatherings dressed in clothes that had been serving double time as his pyjamas and tablecloth for three days. Spencer found Brendon's carefulness oddly endearing, even though he was sure it was just a leftover habit from his upbringing - not anything unique to Spencer or his family.  
  
Spencer's mom had made Ryan's favourite meatloaf. Spencer wasn't sure if this was on purpose or not, and he didn't want to ask. He shared a significant glance with Brendon. Brendon gobbled it up manfully and asked for seconds, as if he were trying to find and replace all the memories of when Ryan had sat in the same place and done the same thing.  
  
"So, how _is_ Ryan?" asked Spencer's mom.  
  
"He's good," said Spencer automatically. "He's working on new stuff with Jon."  
  
"I know that," said Spencer's mom. "Seeing as it's the same line you've fed me for the last three weeks." She ladled out another portion for Brendon, who looked slightly sick. "I'm not stupid. Crystal found some photos on the internet, and, well..."  
  
"Then you know just as much as us," interrupted Spencer. "Because you know what, Mom? He hasn't called me. Or Brendon. Neither has Jon. The best we've got is a few tweets. So Ryan is slutting it up with a bunch of his new cokehead friends -"  
  
"Spencer!"   
  
Spencer's mom just sat there looking ready to cry, so it took Spencer a minute to realise it was Brendon who'd spoken. "Excuse us for a minute," he continued, grabbing Spencer by the arm and pulling him from the room.  
  
"What?" Spencer crossed his arms defensively. His mood was not helped by the picture of him, Ryan and Trent on the wall, dating from the Christmas when Spencer had got his first drumset.   
  
"You know what." Brendon's glare wasn't very good because he didn't use it much. "Quit making your mom feel bad about this. It's not her fault. It's not anyone's fault, remember?"  
  
"Maybe the band breaking up isn't anyone's fault," said Spencer, "but my so-called best friend not calling me for weeks? Oh, I'd say that's all Ryan."  
  
Brendon sighed and slid his hand across Spencer's tensed arms, down the hardened muscle till he reached his wrists and tugged them free.   
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I, just. I need a hug." Brendon bit his lip. Spencer rolled his eyes at Brendon's camera pout, but he stiffly put his arms around him all the same. Brendon tucked his hands under Spencer's chin and rested his face on them. "I'm still here."  
  
"Kind of hard to forget," Spencer pointed out through a mouthful of Brendon's hair. It reminded him that, while Ryan was his best friend, _he_ was pretty much Brendon's. While you could call what Ryan and Brendon had a friendship, it was more like a handful of antagonism and rivalry and envy coated over with a veneer of superficial sparks and reluctant affection. Jon's best friends were all in Chicago, although he'd loved all of Panic equally. At least, Spencer had thought so. Neither Ryan nor Jon would say who had come up with the idea of leaving first.  
  
In response, Brendon closed in tighter, folding himself over until they were clinging like a pair of co-dependent limpets. Over Brendon's head, Spencer saw his mom come in. She was holding a plate with an oven mitt.  
  
"Apple pie, anyone?" she asked. "I've whipped some cream, too."  
  
Brendon looked up, beaming, and if his cheeks were a little damp neither Spencer nor his mom commented. "My favourite!"  
  
"Yes," she said, "I know."  
  
  
 _i see you  
the only one who knew me   
and now your eyes see through me  
i guess i was wrong_  
  
  
Brendon went to stay with Shane and Regan for a few days, ostensibly to visit Dylan. Spencer could see right through that, but he and Brendon had been living alone with each other for a long time and he guessed he could see how that would start to grate. Brendon didn't irritate him the way Jon and Ryan had when they were sharing space. He'd never asked Brendon if it worked the same way for him.   
  
It was technically Brendon's house, but Spencer had started paying rent the week the split became public. Spencer wasn't going back to Vegas now, he wasn't going to move in with Ryan or spend any time in Chicago. The echoes were wrong without Brendon singing in the shower, thumping around his bedroom like he was playing basketball with the entire NBA instead of just getting dressed, burning toast to the point of charcoal because that was how he liked it.  
  
After sleeping in till three and eating most of a box of Frosties, Spencer wandered downstairs in his boxers. Their practice space was a mess. Brendon had got into the habit of jumping up in the middle of the night and running down there to pen new lyrics or chords or album concepts. He'd have slept there if Spencer hadn't stopped him. In the three days since Brendon had left, Spencer hadn't even opened the door. The room was filled with a hot, dead smell, so Spencer started rocking the door back and forth to create an air current. A few pieces of paper drifted over his bare toes.  
  
Spencer bent to pick one up. It was Brendon's handwriting, and all it said was 'Ryan Ross.' Spencer's first instinct was to crumple the page, but a second later he smoothed it out again. He even knelt on the floor to push out the crumples with his knee, nearly ripping the paper in the process.  
  
Spencer had always, always been Ryan's wingman. He'd seen him through shit that life had put him through and shit he'd put himself through. It hurt, it really fucking hurt that Ryan only saw him as an observer. It was true that Spencer had sometimes looked on Ryan with awe. Spencer had been a rock that tied the frail string of Ryan's drifting balloon to the earth. Spencer wondered who was Ryan's rock now, whether he was free-floating too close to the sun, whether he liked it better that way.   
  
Ryan didn't need him. But Spencer needed Ryan. Without Ryan, he was out of balance, tipping too far over the side of ordinary.   
  
Spencer hardly noticed picking up the pen, or twirling it through his fingers like a drumstick. It was just there when he needed to write _I miss you_ and _fuck you_ and _maybe this is the end of what I should have seen coming_. He wrote all through the afternoon and into the night, only noticing the change when he had to switch on the light. Brendon found him there hours later, when his hand was so cramped around the pen he couldn't drop it even though he'd finally emptied his brain.  
  
Brendon carefully propped his guitar case against the wall. The tiny thud caught Spencer's attention and he smiled beatifically up at Brendon. "You came back," he said.   
  
"Yeah, well, I missed you," said Brendon lightly. "And Shane makes me make my own waffles. It's cruel."  
  
"You came back," repeated Spencer, and wobbled far enough to the left that he could hug Brendon's legs.  
  
"Whoa, are you high?" Brendon sounded a little disapproving. Neither of them had done pot for a long time, by unspoken consensus. Brendon dropped to his knees and smelled Spencer's hair. "What's all this paper?"  
  
"Oh - stuff." Spencer tried to gather it up and hide it, but there were too many pages. Brendon got hold of one and started reading. His eyes widened.   
  
"Hey, this is really good," he said. "I didn't know you could write lyrics."  
  
"Are they lyrics?" asked Spencer.   
  
"They could be," said Brendon.  
  
"I didn't mean for them to be," said Spencer. "I just needed to - get it out of me."  
  
"Yeah," said Brendon softly, "that's what lyrics are." He tugged Spencer upright.   
  
"I'm glad you came back early," said Spencer earnestly. He always got this way when he was especially tired. It was worse than being high. He could worry about it later, though; right now he leaned into Brendon's warmth and let him guide Spencer up the stairs and into his bed.  
  
  
 _you'll say we've got nothing in common  
no common ground to start from  
and we're falling apart_  
  
  
Spencer fell through the door, laughing, in time to hear the phone ring. He was covered in greasepaint and still wearing the white boots from the video shoot. Brendon and Spencer had played fallen angels tramping around Vegas. Pete was scarily in character as the Devil tempting them on to further heights of debauchery. Spencer was pretty sure the fans would go wild for Brendon back in eyeliner, a tinsel halo slipping over messy curls and a tarnished white robe clinging in strategic areas.   
  
"You get it," said Brendon. "I need a shower." He grimaced at his face in the hall mirror. The large teardrops tracking down his cheek were smudged, but Spencer found the red eyeshadow did strange things to his stomach. He was glad Brendon was going to wash it all off so he could stop being sad that Brendon was going to wash it all off.  
  
The phone rang about ten times before Spencer got to it, tangled in Sugar Ray's lead and nearly braining himself on the kitchen counter. He was surprised when he picked up and said hello not into a dropped line, but to the sound of someone breathing.  
  
"Hello?" said Spencer again. "Is anyone there?"  
  
"Hi, Spence," said Ryan, and Spencer sat right down on the floor in shock. He skinned his elbow on the way and got so involved in wincing that Ryan said, "You still there? I get if you're ignoring me, but in that case you should just hang up."  
  
"So -" Spencer cut himself off sharply. "I'm surprised, that's all."  
  
"How are you?" asked Ryan, and actually waited for an answer, which was new.  
  
"Fine," said Spencer cautiously.  
  
"Pete said you're filming the next video," said Ryan. "Basically, he sent me the mp3 of the new single and, Spence, since when do you write lyrics?"  
  
Spencer nearly dropped the handset from his suddenly chilled hand. "Fucking Pete." Brendon had been against the idea of concealing Spencer's authorship, but Spencer wanted the fans to judge the lyrics on their own right first. Pete knew, of course, but telling Ryan was above and beyond.  
  
"They're ... jesus fucking christ, man, why did you hold out on me so long?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"They're amazing. Midnight at Twilight became my most played on iTunes in one day. Why didn't you ever write before?"  
  
"I didn't have anything to write about, before," said Spencer simply. There was silence on the other end.  
  
"You should come out and visit," said Ryan. "You'd love New York. Millions of shoe stores. Jon wants to see you, too."  
  
"Well, you know where we are," snapped Spencer. "We haven't moved or anything."  
  
"Yeah, Spence," said Ryan, "neither have we."  
  
Spencer breathed out noisily. Ryan always hated when people did that on the phone. "I'll have to ask Brendon."  
  
"Are you guys - you know? Now."  
  
Sugar Ray chose that moment to snuffle at Spencer's leg. Corgis were always hungry, apparently, although Sugar Ray's favourite food seemed to be Spencer. She liked him best, even though Spencer had bought her for Brendon and let him name her after a one-hit wonder. "What?"  
  
"Never mind." Ryan sounded like he was muffling a laugh. "Just - promise you'll come out. At least once."  
  
"Remember those summers when we spent every day together?" asked Spencer, rubbing his thumb over Sugar Ray's bumpy skull. She snuffled in ecstasy.  
  
"Yeah," said Ryan. "And we're still in contact now. How many friends do you still call from high school?"  
  
"You," said Spencer. "Brendon."  
  
"You live with Brendon," said Ryan. "You don't need to call him."  
  
"Sometimes he's away," said Spencer, unaccountably defensive. "Or what if we run out of coffee or whatever?"  
  
"The point is, the past isn't going to change. The future is."  
  
"Ryan Ross," said Spencer, "I do believe you are high."  
  
"I'm hanging up now," said Ryan. "Your email hasn't changed, right? Because I'm sending you flight details right now."  
  
"No," said Spencer slowly, "no, it hasn't changed."  
  
A while later Brendon came down, freshly washed and smelling of soap and Spencer's fruity shampoo. A little bit of eyeliner was smudged under his left eye, and Spencer's heart flipped over with a painful whoosh.   
  
"You're bleeding!" said Brendon.  
  
"Oh. Yeah." Spencer looked down. Sugar Ray nosed at his arm, clearly ready to help with the cleanup.  
  
"Please don't expose my dog to vampirism," said Brendon. He picked up Sugar Ray by the middle and put her down outside the screen door. Instead of running off to play, she pressed her nose against the mesh and whined pathetically.  
  
"That is the most clingy-est of dogs," said Brendon, hands on hips. Spencer looked up at him and knew how Sugar Ray felt.  
  
"Ryan just called," he said. Brendon's face turned fifteen different shades before settling on a pretty pink flush.  
  
"And are you - okay?" he asked tentatively.  
  
"He wanted to say our new song was great," said Spencer, "and to come visit him and Jon."  
  
"Our new song is great," said Brendon. "When are we leaving?"  
  
"I - you want to go?"  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
Spencer looked away, wiping his bloody elbow with the edge of his t-shirt. He felt rather than saw Brendon slide down to sit beside him, bumping knees companionably.   
  
"Why don't you want to go?"   
  
Spencer shrugged, let Brendon take his arm and wrap it in a dishcloth covered in toast crumbs. "It's just. Ryan seems so totally okay with how things have changed, and I still want him to be who he was when he was fifteen."  
  
"It would be a little creepy for a man your age to have a fifteen-year-old best friend," said Brendon. "In fact, I'm pretty sure that would make you Pete."  
  
"Anything but that!" said Spencer, miming horror and covering his face with his hands. Laughing, Brendon took them away. His smile was right in Spencer's face and Spencer couldn't breathe.  
  
"What are we?" he asked, in a voice so soft he was surprised Brendon could hear it. But this was Brendon, who slept so lightly that Spencer pacing in his bedroom woke him, brought him trotting into Spencer's bedroom to pull him back down and hug him till he fell asleep again.   
  
"You're still friends," said Brendon. "I think you always will be, but -"  
  
"Not - not Ryan. You. And me."  
  
"Ah." Brendon's eyes shifted sideways. "We're friends too. We work together. We're housemates. We co-parent a super-needy dog -"  
  
"I love you," said Spencer. And it was so easy to say, so much easier than anything else he'd ever said that he wondered why he didn't say it every day, all the time, long before now.  
  
"I was just about to add 'boyfriends'," said Brendon, smiling rapturously, "but you beat me."  
  
"You were?"  
  
"Well -" Brendon hesitated "- I wanted to."  
  
So Spencer leaned forward the final inch and kissed Brendon, ignoring Sugar Ray's anguished scrabbling, sliding his tongue into Brendon's mouth and his thigh between Brendon's legs, getting blood on Brendon's t-shirt and ripping his own on a doorknob. Because he wanted to.  
  
  
 _she said i think i remember the film  
and as i recall i think we both kinda liked it  
and i said  
well that's the one thing we've got_  
  
  
"I think we should have sex on Ryan's bed," announced Brendon.   
  
"I think that would work better as a plan if he didn't actually hear us first," said Spencer. Brendon just squeezed Spencer's hand tighter.   
  
Spencer felt the cold seep through the wine bottle he was holding as Brendon rang the doorbell. They were both nervous, but Spencer was _really_ nervous. He wasn't supposed to get jittery before meeting Ryan and he wasn't sure who to blame for that.  
  
Maybe he really would fuck Brendon on Ryan's bed.  
  
"But I want to open it!" complained Jon's voice behind the frosted panels.  
  
"It's my flat, I get to open it," said Ryan. "Besides, I want to see them first."  
  
"You are the worst friend, Ryan Ross -"  
  
Ryan opened the door.


End file.
